Darkest Knight II: Let us heal you
by ShadowsGrace
Summary: A second poem brings him back to her, and this time she won't let him leave until he sees that he has a choice and knows what he has to do. But will he let those that love him heal him, will he allow himself to be saved? I suggest you read Darkest Knight


**Darkest Knight II: Let us heal you**

You,

Your fear,

I smell it from here.

You shield your heart to stave off love,

Closing the doors against the gentlest dove.

And I know why.

You fear love,

You fear its hold,

You fear what may come of a tale that was,

To you, untold.

Torn from you before you're eyes,

You use your mask to hide its demise.

Innocents stolen by a pointless act,

Feeling that your guilt is an obvious fact.

Let me help you,

Help you heal.

With all you have done,

You deserve that ideal.

You are a protector,

A king of the night,

To deny you this,

Would be nothing but spite.

You are falling,

Down,

Down,

Down,

Let me wake you before you hit the ground.

The dark abyss,

A deadly kiss,

A sleep that goes on forever.

With you gone,

Life would go on,

But many heartstrings you would sever.

I spotted the binder once again on the desk and smiled slightly. "Did you like it?" he appeared out of the shadows without a sound, a wraith, shrouded in black.

As I watched him, I could tell that he was uneasy, as he always seemed to be around me, off balance and perhaps a little confused. My latest work had shaken him, possibly, even more than the first.

He was staring at me, and I was making him nervous by not squirming under his gaze. I could tell that he had come back, not just to return the binder again, he could have sent it by mail or just dropped it off and left, he had also come to see me, one of the few people who would not jump when he entered the room or materialized out of the shadows.

"Why did you leave this for me?" "Because I wanted you to read it." "Why?" "Why do you think?" his eyes narrowed. I stood and walked over to him, standing right in front of him as he looked at me, never breaking eye contact, holding him there with my gaze.

"I don't know what face hides behind this mask." I said softly, reaching up and running my fingers over the black material on the side of his face, letting my touch glide over the skin of his jaw before pulling away. "But I know that you feel guilt. That it is guilt, anger and a need for revenge that drives you to do what you do, to do what so many love you for doing."

He was staring at me, unmoving, not making a sound as I ran one finger over the bat logo on his chest, letting me touch him in a way that, perhaps, no one else ever had.

"You lost some one you loved when you were young, perhaps more than just one, and right in front of you. It hurt you beyond what many can imagine, beyond what _I_ can imagine. But even though I cannot begin to understand you're pain," I moved my hands to cup his sharp cheek-bones, "I still want to help you."

"You cannot help me," he said, speaking at last "No one can." He turned away towards the window. "Yes they can, if you only let them, if you only let _me_." He stopped, but did not look back at me. "So many people love you for what you do, but few can for who you are, because few can see who you are. But there are those that can, and not just me. At least three of them you see almost daily." "Nightwing, Robin and Batgirl?" "Yes." "Nightwing left me." "All children grow, all sons rebel against their fathers at some point in time, it is only natural that they do so, and it is only natural for a parent to want to protect his child."

He was listening, I could tell, even though he wasn't facing me, he was hanging onto my every word. "All three of them love you dearly, but you have shut yourself away to such an extent that you can barely feel that love, as great as it is." I approached him again, keeping only a few paces between us. "You have to learn to re-open your heart to that love, you have to let the people who love you heal you. You cannot do it alone." "Why not?" he turned back to look at me. I frowned slightly "This isn't a fight that can be won with martial arts and gadgets. In this battle you cannot see your opponent, because you _are _your opponent. All these years you have been fighting yourself and you have been gaining no headway, perhaps you have even hurt yourself worse than before, opening your wounds wider the harder you struggle to close them."

I was standing right in front of him now, my eyes locked once again with his. "You cannot stitch a wound you cannot see, you cannot numb the pain without aid, and you cannot heal properly without first having the gash cleaned. You have tried, for years, and your wound has become infected, making your pain worse the harder you try to push it away. It is destroying you. And you are hurting those you love and strive to protect while you do this."

My last sentence seemed to startle him, thought I only detected a slight increase in the rate of his breathing. "You are putting them through just what you yourself are suffering from, but you are making it even worse than the pain that you were subjected to. You are forcing them to watch as a man they love tortures himself to death over something that he could have done nothing to prevent."

I reached up and placed my hand over his heart, feeling its strong, steady pulse beneath my palm. "If you will not allow yourself to be healed to relive your own pain, than do it for them, do it for those that love you. If you really, truly love them in return, there is no better way to show it than to let them save you from yourself."

(A.N. Only the girl and the poem belong to me)


End file.
